Veritas

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Veritas Page 8

by St Clare, Kelly


  His smile eased, and he said, “Learning the theory is one thing, but carrying out a task is different entirely. Trimming the sheets on a day like this is different to trimming them in a storm.”

  “I s’pose so,” she quickly agreed, eager to be rid of the weird tension.

  The ropes creaked overhead again. Closer.

  Ebba didn’t want to be here when Jagger made it to the bottom; she was still mortified after her panicked moment. And then there was Caspian’s weird reaction.

  She took a single step away.

  In a hissing eruption of water, Grubby burst from the black sea. A very naked Grubby.

  Ebba yelped and slapped a hand over her eyes. “Sink me, he needs to ring a bell or swim in clothin’.”

  Caspian replied, “Don’t you find it amazing this man was inside of Grubby the entire time?”

  “Not when he be naked, nay.”

  Wet footsteps approached her, and Ebba jumped at a thud from behind as Jagger landed. Sod it.

  “Daughter.”

  She recognized Grubby’s voice. “Are ye dressed?”

  “I have a towel around my genitalia, yes.”

  Ebba was glad she had no idea what that word meant, and she’d be taking absolutely no pains to understand it. She dropped her hand and scowled at the towel around Grubby’s hips. “What is it?”

  He bowed to Caspian and then addressed her. “My co-parents have informed me at length that I did wrong by allowing you to fulfil your lustful urges with Calypso.”

  Caspian drew closer, and Ebba darted a look at him, taking in the cool expression upon his face.

  “Aye, ye did,” she said. “He took over my mind, and I didn’t know what I wanted anymore.”

  “Ah, yes. I greatly underestimated how a full-blooded mortal would be affected by his sway. To me, he merely appeared as an attractive individual, and I gleaned nothing more from your response than my usual response to a woman. But I understand he used compulsion, and I apologize for that lapse in my knowledge and judgment,” her selkie father said, regret in his eyes. “Satisfying one’s carnal appetites is not right without the will of both parties intact.”

  Ebba wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss the matter with two males her age standing within earshot. “But ye impregnate the women who come to the western Kentro cove.”

  “They ask us to. That is the difference, daughter.”

  “Well, aye,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I’d ap’reciate it if ye didn’t let Calypso near me again. Or anyone immortal who has the same magic. I don’t like to be kissin’ strangers.”

  Mr. Grubby’s eyes flickered to where Jagger stood and back to her. Twice. “I see.”

  Uh. “Nay. Not him.”

  “Are you sure, daughter? I know attraction when I see it.”

  A sharp tension filled the air.

  Ebba resisted the urge to press her hands into her scalding cheeks. Grubby did not just say that, she thought, mortified. She floundered for a way to escape from the present company.

  “S-stubby, we need to keep huntin’ the part down, aye?” she shouted. Loud.

  “Aye, when ye’re ready,” Stubby bellowed back over the wind.

  Too late, she realized her error. Her ploy to get away from Jagger and Caspian had resulted in the opposite. They’d have to touch to find the direction again.

  Sink her. This wasn’t her day.

  Muscles coiled tight, she muttered to the men at her back. “Come on then.” And then shot at the selkie. “I need the dynami.”

  She caught the reluctance on Grubby’s face as he extracted the tube from his vest, and she snatched it from him.

  “Are ye sure ye don’t want to hold the veritas instead?” Jagger asked her.

  Being near Jagger was about the last thing she wanted. Added to what happened earlier, there wasn’t any way he’d missed Grubby’s announcement. She darted a look at his face, her embarrassment flaring anew.

  “I’ll touch the sword when I be good and ready,” she snapped. “If I’m ever good and ready. And ye can wipe that smirk off yer face.”

  He quirked a brow. “Ye know it’d make ye feel better.”

  “Kissin’ ye?” she scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

  A drawling grin crossed his face. “I was talkin’ o’ the sword, Viva.”

  Her eyes flew to his. He was right. He hadn’t mentioned kissing at all. And neither had Grubby. Not directly. Her entire being flamed with a soul-deep embarrassment that struck her mute.

  Ebba became extremely occupied with tucking the dynami in her belt.

  “But it would make ye feel better,” Jagger said low in her ear. “Much better.”

  Uh.

  Ebba studied his boots. If she thought about Jagger’s boots, there was no reason to look at his face. Her cheeks were still burning, and Ebba knew he’d catch the embarrassment in her eyes if she lifted her head. As would the prince.

  Shite, shite, shite. What did Caspian think about all this?

  Jagger rested a hand on the top of the prince’s stumped shoulder and darted out to snag Ebba’s free hand, squeezing tight. She started to withdraw and then decided not to make a big deal out of it. There had been enough awkwardness for one day. She’d play it cool.

  Dreading what she might see, Ebba glanced up at the prince.

  White-lipped, he met her gaze with flashing amber eyes.

  Sink her, that was definitely jealousy. She’d have to talk to him later. After the Calypso talk with Grubby, the word just slipped out. It was all a misunderstanding. Things between her and the prince were new and uncertain, but Ebba never wanted him to feel something as ugly as jealousy.

  She held out her hand, pleading with her eyes for him to take it. Relief coursed through her like a cool breeze when Caspian’s eyes softened.

  “I know, Ebba,” he said with a sigh. “Don’t mind me.”

  And yet the tension didn’t dissipate one bit with the oversized presence of Jagger.

  Caspian interlaced his fingers with hers.

  White light erupted, and after the shocked moment of seeing how they were transformed by the radiance, the three of them stared northwest at the beam.

  The warmth of the brilliant sheen basked within her, and though Ebba never liked breaking the connection, this time she really didn’t want it to end. After what happened with Calypso, the link felt healing. Purging. When Jagger and Caspian tried to pull away, Ebba clung tight to their hands, closing her eyes to take several deep inhales.

  She dropped the link, and Caspian looked at her in question.

  “I needed that.” Ebba shrugged a shoulder.

  “Northwest?” Plank called.

  Ebba and the others strode toward him and Stubby at the helm.

  “Northwest,” Jagger echoed. “Again.”

  “We’ll have to put the nets out,” Stubby said, fist curling. “Or else who knows how long this might go on.”

  Grubby hummed. “There are a number of creatures with power under the surface who would object to that treatment.”

  “Like?” Caspian asked, exchanging a look with her.

  He bowed to the prince. “Like Capricorn, Eachies, Jendu, and a Shen.”

  Plank whistled low, adjusting the green bandana holding back his raven curls. “Aye, we don’t want to anger any o’ them.”

  “What are they?” she asked.

  “An Eachy be a great slimy creature who lives on the sea floor and eats anythin’ and everythin’.”

  Grubby cut in. “The Jengu are usually pleasant and helpful, but they can curse you with permanent disease if angered.”

  “Shen can make ye see things that ain’t real,” Plank said. “And Capricorn be nasty buggers in the tales I know—half-goat, half-fish.”

  There was a time when Ebba would’ve thrown back her head and laughed at the thought of a goat-fish. Though even with all they’d seen, the combination sounded strange.

  “The net is all we’ve got,” Ebba said. “Unless whatever be ca
rryin’ the next part tires. But that could be days or weeks. Or never.”

  They stood in silence.

  “What about him?” Jagger said.

  They followed the jerk of his thumb to Grubby, who looked almost sheepish at the attention.

  “My name is Gustafio,” he replied.

  Jagger cut him off. “When we round up livestock on Neos, we surround the beasts on all sides except the direction we want the herd to go.”

  “That’s what we aimed to do with the nets, lad.”

  “Aye,” the younger pirate said. “But ye have a selkie who can go in the water. He can help to trap whatever it is we be chasin’.”

  Everyone watched as Grubby puffed himself up. He glanced around their circle and deflated. “I suppose I could do that.”

  “Ye’d already thought o’ it,” Stubby accused.

  The selkie threw a hooded glare at Jagger.

  Caspian spoke. “It would be ideal if we had an island or rocks of some description to direct the creature into. That’s what we used to do on a hunt.”

  “Calypso’s rocks?” Grubby offered.

  Ebba shook her head, swallowing hard. “Nay, I ain’t goin’ back there.”

  Stubby hummed. “So we’ll sail northwest and get Grubby to round the thing off at the top and drive it back toward us.”

  “Worth a shot.” Plank scanned them all. “Let’s get to it.”

  * * *

  Ebba folded the multitudes of blankets that made up her hiding spot under the hammock, shoving them back in her fathers’ trunks in the sleeping quarters. The last blanket was hers, and she folded it, kicking back the top of her second trunk—which contained her clothing—to place it inside.

  “I can’t hear you practicing,” Barrels called from his office.

  With her, Jagger, and Caspian checking the direction of the part every half hour, Barrels had allowed her to skip her lesson for the day. The condition being she spell words aloud.

  “T-r-u-n-k,” she called back.

  “Well done, my dear.”

  All she wanted to do was read her scrapbook, but Barrels had tucked the gift away as though sensing as soon as she memorized the scribblings in there, she’d stop lessons. He was canny, her father.

  She threw back the top of her other trunk—the accessory trunk—and stared inside.

  “Necklace,” she said, screwing her face up. “Nn-eek-lah-ss. N-e-k-l-i-c-e!”

  “N-e-c-k-l-a-c-e. Very close. I’m glad to see you sounding things out.”

  Ebba blew out a breath. This language was stupid. “N-e-c-k-l-a-c-e,” she repeated dutifully, drawing out a large strand of beads and then letting it fall back in a pooled heap atop her multitudes of bright fabrics and bandanas. She’d dressed in her usual slops, tunic, dynami tucked in her belt, and a black jerkin. Same, same, same.

  She wanted something a bit different today.

  Humming to herself, Ebba sifted through the scraps of fabrics. Some were braided; most were frayed.

  The bilge door opened.

  “Hey, can ye help me?” she called, knowing it would be either Caspian or her fathers.

  “Depends what it is.”

  She glanced up at Jagger. “What are ye doin’? Ye never come down here.”

  He quirked both brows. “Gettin’ a drink. Is that okay with ye?”

  Did that mean the taint was leaving him?

  Not rising to his bait, she held out her arms and the fabric. “Can ye tie the fabric around my wrists? I only want them about a third o’ the way up my arms.”

  Jagger glanced around the sleeping quarters. She shook the fabric at him.

  Sighing, Jagger set down veritas and took a short, braided length of fabric from her. He wrapped it several times about her wrist and then tied it off, leaving the short ends free. He reached for another and she tutted.

  “The striped one next.”

  He snatched the striped one, wrapping it about her wrist. He continued, wrapping three more frayed lengths on her right arm and then started on the left.

  “Is that good enough for ye?” he muttered.

  “It will do,” she announced regally, waving him off.

  “I’m so glad.”

  Jagger left, muttering under his breath.

  She smirked after him, but the gleaming silver of the sword caught her eye. He’d left it behind. No. He’d left veritas right next to her on purpose.

  Bloody sod.

  Jagger’s words from the other day struck her, and Ebba stared at veritas.

  Ducking her head to see between the posts, she checked to make sure the pirate had truly left for the hold and then sat back to contemplate the sword again.

  Truth.

  Something she’d always done without. Happily so, until a bit of pressure was applied. Then, the little cracks she and her fathers had filled in with dirt were washed out and exposed, very nearly to their demise. Maybe they would’ve always ended up together again, but as much as Ebba feared losing them or being apart from them, her time on Pleo had been the closest she’d come in her life to wanting to leave them behind. Lies and cover-ups had caused that.

  Ebba had decided to stop lying to herself—was even becoming pretty good at it. But so far, admitting the truth had remained in her head, a silent thing. She wasn’t quite so good at speaking the truth aloud. If she touched the sword, the truth would still be just in her head. Others wouldn’t see.

  Tentatively, she reached out for the blade, but the same fear from yesterday stilled her hand. Would the sword show her something horrible? Truth was important, but there were varying degrees of it. There was good truth, and there was harsh, bitter truth—like the one she discovered on Pleo about her fathers.

  Jagger said if she focused on something, the sword would just show her that. . . .

  “I can’t hear you,” Barrels called.

  Ebba jolted. And curled her stretching fingers into a loose fist.

  “P-o-s-t,” she said, heart thudding. “H-a-m-u-k.”

  “H-a-m-m-o-c-k,” he corrected.

  She mimicked him, her thoughts on veritas.

  Boots appeared in her vision, and Ebba quickly sat back on her haunches, shifting her stare to the pirate.

  “Did ye get yer grog?” she asked Jagger unsteadily, knowing he’d seen her.

  He grunted.

  Jagger picked up the sword and disappeared up the bilge ladder. Ebba let out a long exhale, glad she’d resisted temptation. Two embarrassing episodes in front of Jagger in two days would’ve been too much.

  “S-h-i-p,” she called for Barrels’ benefit.

  Digging into her trunk, Ebba paused as her fingers encountered the woven flax pouch Jagger had given her on her eighteenth birthday.

  She drew it out and unraveled the fastening, squeezing the pouch’s sides to see inside.

  “B-e-e-d-s,” she whispered.

  Her gaze snagged on a wooden bead with a zig-zag design. Her fathers gave that to her when her first tooth fell out. Ebba smiled. And the purple one with gold dots they gifted her when they accidentally left her ashore building sand castles while they rowed back to the ship. She’d guilted them into that one. Ebba chuckled to herself, rummaging through the beads. Even after having them cut from her dreads and thinking she’d never see them again, she could still recall every happy memory contained within.

  Crouched under her hammock, the memory of Jagger gripping the sword and muttering wordlessly to himself rose to the surface. He was trying his best. After seeing Jagger’s vulnerability, a larger part of her cared about his plight. Though she had selfish reasons for wishing his success. If Jagger could beat the taint, so could her fathers, and so could everyone else. With his immunity, that didn’t make real sense. But her hope didn’t need logical facts; it just needed something to cling to. And part of why he had to win was because, when things like Calypso happened, Ebba didn’t always believe she would be all right.

  Jagger had to keep fighting. For all of them.

  Pu
tting these beads back in her dreads would help him. And help her. It would be a belated thank-you, a sign of her gratitude for him collecting the beads.

  “O-n-e,” she said as she threaded the first bead back into her dreads.

  She couldn’t use the same dreadlocks. They weren’t nubs that stuck upright any longer, but they were short. She’d been encouraging the new growth to form new dreads, teasing and rolling wax into the hair. The three strands would take years to catch up to her other dreads—if they ever did.

  Ebba grabbed the gold thread she’d nabbed from her time in Medusa’s Lair. Inspired, she picked up a white dread, one of six bleached of life by the purgium. Previously, Ebba had stacked her beads against each other in a solid row. But now, using the lengths of golden thread, she spaced the beads through eight of her dreads, including the front two white dreads. When done, she felt over each of them, wondering what they looked like and hoping the reality matched the vision in her mind.

  Ebba was glad she’d changed the placement of the beads. Going completely back to how they were wouldn’t be right.

  “S-h-i-t-e,” she said.

  In retrospect, her move seemed . . . bold. Everyone would make a big deal of her beads when they saw her. Maybe she’d hide them a bit.

  Leaving them down, Ebba placed a red-purple bandana over her dreads and tied the loose back end in a knot to hold it in place. Relenting in part to include some of her usual getup, Ebba tied a black length of silk around her hips and tied it off to the side of her waist. She pinged the golden hoop already in her ear.

  “Ebba?” Caspian called down. She liked him calling her Ebba. He should have done so from the start. Mainlanders and their misplaced manners.

  “Caspian,” she sang back.

  As he climbed down the ladder, Ebba skirted from underneath the hammock and straightened her outfit.

  His eyes rounded when he saw her. The prince stopped short and surveyed her.

  Striding forward, he picked up one of her dreads. “You put your beads back in.” He paused, frowning. “Why?”

  “Do I need a reason?” she asked. Her decision was too personal to share.

  He thumbed the golden thread and two of the beads, sliding down her white dread and tugging on the end. “Please tell me I’m being a jealous fool, Ebba. But can I ask if Jagger has anything to do with this decision?”

 

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